


One Need, In the Night

by embroiderama



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Nightmares, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-31
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teen!Dean has a nightmare, and John is there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Need, In the Night

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/hoodie_time/profile)[**hoodie_time**](http://community.livejournal.com/hoodie_time/) [comment-fic meme](http://community.livejournal.com/hoodie_time/191293.html) for [](http://lies-unfurl.livejournal.com/profile)[**lies_unfurl**](http://lies-unfurl.livejournal.com/)'s prompt. Title from U2's "One," with Johnny Cash's cover in mind.

Even at twelve, Sam was a hell of a lot like Dad, even if neither of them could see it. The tilt of his chin when he was determined and the heavy darkness in his eyes when he was angry, the way he could dive into a pool of research material head-first and not come up until he had the metaphorical fish in the grip of his teeth--four foot eleven and ninety pounds of junior John Winchester. But they couldn't have been more different when it came to their sleeping habits, and sometimes Dean was seriously grateful for that.

Sam slept like the dead, usually sprawled out face-down with his head mashed into the pillow hard enough to leave lines all over his face by the time he woke up. Sometimes he'd wake up to a shout, but if he was deep enough in dreams it would take Dean physically dumping him off the mattress to startle him into wakefulness. Dad, on the other hand, slept like a cat, usually skimming just under the skin of sleep, ready to wake up at the smallest sound that sifted though his unconscious filter of what was normal and what wasn't. Sometimes it was a pain in the ass, not being able to get past his father unless he crawled straight out the window, silent as a ninja, and only then if he and Sam had their own room.

Sometimes.

~~~

Dean wasn't a pussy. He wasn't scared of monsters in scary movies or even monsters in real life, most of the time. He wasn't like Sam, who had nightmares for a week after seeing _Jurassic Park_, of all things. Dean usually slept pretty well, just waking up a few times during the night for long enough to look over at Sam, look around the room, and fall back to sleep. He had the bad dreams everybody got sometimes--running away from something, showing up naked at school, falling--but that was nothing he couldn't shake off, roll over, push away all on his own.

So he wasn't sure what was going on when he woke up already sitting up, his chest thick and hot, the cheap hotel sheets and his t-shirt sticking to him like they were trying to become another layer of skin. He felt something looming next to him, the touch of a hand on his neck and he jerked away, panting even harder until he realized it was Dad. Just Dad, his face tight with worry in the dim light shining in from the parking lot.

"You okay there, kiddo?" Dad's voice was quiet, a rumbling murmur, and Dean's stomach twisted with embarrassment at being comforted by his father after a bad dream like he was three years old or something.

"M'fine." Dean ducked his head, staring at the grayish jumble of sheets in his lap. "It was nothing."

"Uh-huh." Dad sat down on the edge of the bed, the small shift in the mattress not nearly enough to wake up Sammy. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah, it was just--" The hell of the thing was that Dean couldn't even pretend not to know where the dumb nightmare had come from. "Just, when Sam slipped on those rocks when we were hiking out of the park the other day."

"Seemed like you kept him from tearing up his knees and palms; he's fine."

"Yeah, I, the path was steeper in my dream." Not just steep, more like a cliff that went down and down and down, covered in rocks like the serrated edge of a knife. "Sammy--" Dean could see it all again like he had in the nightmare, Sam hanging over the edge, his feet kicking out for a foothold he would never find. He could feel Sam's sweaty fingers in his, the pull on his wrist and elbow and shoulder, the terrible slip as one finger after another escaped Dean's grip. As Sam fell, Dean had felt himself falling too--watching Sam's body beaten against the side of the cliff while Dean himself endlessly fell and fell and--

Dean's stomach lurched and he shoved the side of his fist against his mouth, desperate not to be sick. He had his eyes closed tight, but he could feel his father shifting on the bed and then the touch of a big hand on his back, rubbing over the damp cotton of his t-shirt. The tight coil of sickness in Dean's stomach loosened and the taste of bile receded along with the image of Sam in his dream, falling and falling. When he felt like there was no way he was going to puke, he opened his eyes and looked over at his father. "I'm okay."

"Of course you are." Dad nodded, patted Dean on the back before withdrawing his hand. "So's Sam. Think you can get back to sleep?"

"I guess," Dean shrugged, lying.

"Yeah." Dad tilted his head over at his own bed, the one right in front of the TV. "TV schedule in the paper said _Raging Bull_ should be starting up around now. Think we'd wake up Sam?"

"Hell, no."

Dad smacked Dean lightly on the arm. "Go change your shirt, I'll find the channel."

On his way to the room's tiny bathroom, Dean grabbed a shirt that was dry if not exactly clean. He took a piss and splashed some water on his face, and the nightmare felt distant and fuzzy around the edges as he sat against the headboard of his father's bed and cracked open the bottle of store brand Sunny Delight he found next to him.

"Can I have a beer instead?"

Dad smirked, shook his head. "Try again in a couple years."

Dean tilted his head back and looked at the TV; they'd missed the beginning but he knew what happened anyway. The cool juice felt good on Dean's throat, and getting to watch De Niro at 2 a.m. felt pretty awesome too.

Having John Winchester as a father, with his hair-trigger reflexes and military wakefulness, could be a serious pain in the ass. But sometimes, sometimes, it didn't suck at all.


End file.
